Softly he whispers,
The world at his feat as he speaks, ever soft.
His voice,
Never it trembles, as he dictates in the shadows.
His words break their weapons like twigs, as he sit's still, in the shadows.
His voice ever calme,
His face ever hidden...
The army rushes near like a storm,
But his voice is omnipotent,
Slowly he stands up, and with him, the wind.
The wind, dictated by his voice,
it Rages ahead,
The army it stands.
In fear!
He raises his hand, and the wind becomes once again a breeze...
They drop on their knees,
He turns around and with him, the wind.
Softly he whispers,
The wind vanishes, and with it, so does he,
Returning to the shadows...